Chapter 12 Ella

Chapter 12 Ella
I woke up exhausted. Sluggishly, I swung my legs off the bed and trudged to wake Sophia before heading to the bathroom. The cold bath jolted me awake, clearing the morning fog. When I walked back into the room, Sophia was still cocooned in her blankets, sleeping peacefully.

“Wake up, sleepyhead. We’ll be late for class,” I said, shaking her gently back and forth.

“What a way to start the morning,” she muttered, yawning, her voice thick with sleep.

“I’ll make you a cup too,” I promised, leaving for the kitchen. A few minutes later, she appeared, stretching her arms lazily as I handed her the coffee.

“You’re a lifesaver,” she said, taking a long sip.

We quickly dressed and headed to the bus station, the morning air crisp against our skin.

“That’s right, I forgot—Alex said Damien called,” Sophia said, her eyes fixed on me, watching my reaction carefully.

“Oh really?” I tried to act nonchalant, but my chest thumped like a drum.

“What did he want?”

“To get your number,” she said, still studying me intently.

“He did?” I exclaimed, too thrilled to pretend ignorance. Sophia burst into laughter.

“Soph, are you just teasing me?” I asked, shock written across my face. She laughed harder, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

“It’s not funny anymore, Soph,” I groaned, annoyed.

“I’m sorry,” she managed between laughs. “Just admit you have a crush on him.”

“Did he actually call Alex or not?” I asked, still annoyed.

“Chill, girl,” she said, easing her laughter. “He called. Apparently, he went to the cafe looking for you. Said he had your hair clip and wanted to return it.” She tried to hide her smile, but it was impossible.

“Oh,” I muttered, disappointment lacing my tone.

“Do you have a crush on him?” she asked, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Fine, yes,” I admitted, rolling my eyes.

“I knew it! It’s so obvious. You two are attracted to each other. I remember that night perfectly, you didn’t have any hair clip on.” She smirked.

“I didn’t?” I tried to remember, but nothing came to mind.

“Maybe it just means he’s interested,” She said, her voice a mix of excitement and teasing. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach.

“He is tho. I see the way he looks at you,” she added, shaking her head knowingly.

Damien’s image flashed in my mind. His piercing blue eyes, the cheeky smile revealing perfectly aligned teeth, and that hair, always so perfectly in place. I wanted to reach out and run my fingers through it.

“I don’t even want to know what scandalous thoughts you’re having,” Sophia said dramatically, stepping away. I laughed, shaking myself back to reality.

The studio buzzed with energy the moment Mrs. Claire entered. The smell of fabric mixed with the faint hum of sewing machines made my heart race.

“Today,” she began, placing her tablet on the front table, “you’ll each make a simple straight gown. You can add designs if you want, but keep the base structure clean and well-fitted. Think of it as your first individual project, so do your best.”

I sat up straighter. A gown project. Finally, something that felt real. Around me, murmurs of excitement rippled through the students. Sophia leaned over, whispering, “I already know mine’s getting a slit. I’m not about to make a boring straight gown.”

I chuckled softly. “Of course you’re not. I think I’ll lace up the back— something soft and simple.”

Mrs. Claire moved around the room, checking fabrics and sketches. “Remember,” she said, pausing by my table, “details should enhance, not distract. Keep your finishing neat.” I nodded, feeling the pressure rise.

I spread my pale lilac fabric across the cutting table, the light catching its slight shimmer. My fingers traced the chalk lines of my pattern, steady but brimming with excitement. This was my design. My work.

The studio was alive with sound: scissors slicing, rulers sliding, machines whirring. Sophia groaned occasionally, and I glanced over to see her frowning at a crooked stitch. Hours passed in a blur. Finally, I stepped back from my mannequin. My straight gown stood there—simple yet graceful, the lace-up back exactly as I imagined. I couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress, proof that maybe I truly belonged here.

Sophia was done too, her gown sky blue, slit daring, just like she promised. The studio was a mess, fabric scraps littering the floor, threads clinging to our clothes, and the faint scent of starch and ironed cotton in the air. My fingers ached, but the sight of my gown on the mannequin made it all worthwhile.

Mrs. Claire made her rounds, clipboard in hand, heels clicking sharply against the tiles. “Alright, class,” she said. “Let’s see what we’ve created today.”

We stood beside our mannequins like contestants on a runway.

Sophia’s gown came first—a bold sky-blue straight gown with a high slit. Sleek, confident, unapologetically sexy, just like her.

Cynthia's followed, a deep red, backless gown that shimmered under the light. The neckline plunged daringly, she clearly wanted all eyes on her gown. She stood with arms crossed, a smug smirk curling her lips.

Finally, mine. Lilac straight gown, simple front, elegant lace-up back. The crisscross laces whispered subtle artistry, delicate but confident.

Mrs. Claire inspected each piece carefully, running fingers along seams, tugging lightly at hems. She lingered slightly longer at mine. My heart hammered.

“Neat work, Ella,” she said at last. “Your lace-up back is well-executed. It adds personality to a simple silhouette. Very elegant.”

I bit back a smile. “Thank you, ma’am.”

When she announced placements, the room held its breath.

“In third place…” she said, scanning her notes. “Cynthia. Bold design, but stitching uneven around the neckline.”

Cynthia’s smirk faltered.

“In second place, Sophia. Excellent use of color and structure. You took a risk, and it worked.”

Sophia beamed, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“And finally…” Mrs. Claire’s eyes flicked to me. “First place, Ella. Beautiful craftsmanship, thoughtful design, and impressive finishing for a beginner. Well done.”

I froze. First place. Me. Sophia squealed, nearly toppling the mannequin in her excitement.

Cynthia didn’t clap. After Mrs Claire left she stalked over, heels clicking sharply. “So that’s what it takes to win now? A plain lilac dress with strings on the back?”

I straightened, meeting her glare. “It’s called a lace-up design, Cynthia. And Mrs. Claire seemed to like it.”

She scoffed. “Outdated. Everyone’s done lace-ups forever. Nothing original.”

Sophia stepped in. “At least it’s neat, unlike your messy neckline.”

Cynthia’s glare flicked to her. “Stay out of it, Sophia. I don't want to talk about your sorry ass split. And enjoy your little victory, Ella. Next project, I’m coming for the top spot.”

I met her eyes, unflinching. “Bring it on. I won’t back down either.”

She laughed coldly, swaying away in her red gown. I realized fashion school wasn’t just creativity, it was a battle of skill. Sophia was clearly annoyed.

“Just forget about her,” she said.

“The beret’s doing its job,” I joked.

“ Yeah sure.” She said, patting her beret. “I’m coming for the top spot too. Don’t get too comfortable.”

“Bring it on,” I said, shaking her hand. We laughed, talking through the highs and lows of creating our gowns.